T-Fem fatale (futa noir)

Story by correox

I don't know where I got this from, but it is very good...

T-Fem fatale

I took one last drag off my Camel and savored the hot smoke filling my lungs. It was March, and the weather man had assured us repeatedly that it was already Spring, but the winter chill lingered in the air like a bad joke. I flicked the spent butt into the street and started the long walk up the brick driveway. The mansion at the end loomed over me like some sort of Gothic monster waiting to pounce. I tried not to look at it. I wanted to pull my coat tighter against the bitter wind. Tough guys didn't worry about catching a chill, so I left it hanging open. I wasn't a tough guy, but rich clients always expected me to act like one. I rang the doorbell and hoped whoever lived there was wearing running shoes that day.

"May I help you, sir?" a tall man with the waxy, drooping face of an undertaker asked me when he pulled open one of the heavy double doors.

"Name's Crane. Miss Davenport summoned me."

"Indeed," the man swabbed a leathery tongue over his lips. By his natty black suit and the air of superiority he wore like armor, he could only be a butler, as improbable as it was in this day and age. He looked over my tweed suit and trench coat, both more than a little rumpled and frayed at the edges. I hadn't shaved in a couple of days, and lack of sleep made my eyes a little bloodshot. He looked like he wanted to snatch a broom and shoo me off the porch like a rat.

"I did have an appointment," I reminded him, and gave him my best smile. My best smile wasn't worth much these days, but I gave it a shot anyway.

"Right this way, Mister Crane," he heaved a great sigh. Perhaps it was too much trouble for him to fetch the broom. Or maybe six-foot and two-hundred pounds was just too big a rat for him to deal with. Either way, he lead me through the foyer into a dimly lit hall with black and white marble floors and two sweeping staircases on either side.

"Hell of a place, Jeeves. Did they shoot horror movies here in the fifties?" I tossed him my hat and coat and he dutifully hung them on pegs by the door. Just as well he ignored my wisecrack. I didn't know where I was going with it anyway.

"Miss Davenport will see you in piano room," the butler intoned. With a sweeping gesture he guided me toward the half-open door on the right. I was game, and went a long with it. I pushed my way through. My feet sank into carpets so lush it felt like I was walking on pillows. There was a grand piano, and stone fireplace, and plenty of sofas and cozy chairs to lounge on.

"Good of you to be on time," the mistress of the house snapped peevishly I was only a minute or two late; she was going to be one of those kinds of clients. I'd have expected to find her at the piano and not sitting on a leather easy chair. I'd also expected her to be a good deal older. She was a tiny little thing in her mid-twenties, with golden blonde hair pulled into a tight bun. She had the body of gymnast or perhaps a ballerina, lean and tight and sheathed in a neat black pant suit. She had her legs crossed and kicked a high-heeled foot back and forth impatiently. I was surprised they made stilettos that small.

"Must have been an accident. I try never to be good," I said, and fished around my pockets for a fresh smoke. She watched me pull the cigarette out with huge blue eyes as round and sharp as a falcon's.

"Surely you can wait a few minutes to smoke, Mister Crane," she snapped. Her pale lips compressed into a tight line under her long, pointed nose.

"Sure, Miss Davenport," I tried my smile again. It didn't work any better on her than it had her butler. I put the pack back in my pocket.

"Disgusting habit," she tutted.

"No doubt about it. I'd quit but I'm not one to give up easily," I looked around. The leather chair across from her looked pretty comfortable.

"Oh do sit down," she made a quick gesture. I sat.

"The message you left was pretty vague, Miss Davenport. I take it from the 'Miss' you're not married. If something was stolen from you, I'd imagine you'd have called the police," I began, watching those bird eyes watching me.

"Is that so?" she leaned back on her chair and uncrossed her legs before crossing them again in the other direction. Her lips twitched. She was actually quite pretty.

"So if it's not a cheating husband or stolen goods you're after, that leaves one thing. Who went missing on you?"

"My girlfriend." She nodded, satisfied a little. She seemed to expect me to be shocked that a rich fancy lady like her had a lesbian lover. I played the part as best I could and raised an eyebrow.

"How long?"

"Five days now," she leaned forward as she spoke.

"That's a long time to wait before calling someone like me. Why the delay?"

"I'm not one to keep a leash on my lovers. I have my life and she has hers. But we did have an appointment and she didn't keep it. She hasn't returned my calls,

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